


Ohana

by Sabelinx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Lilo & Stitch (2002)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabelinx/pseuds/Sabelinx
Summary: Lilo, Nani and her friends were good people. Those like them always found a way to survive whatever life threw in their way.





	Ohana

The birds are singing, a light breeze blows across the field and except for two or three clouds, the sky is perfectly clear.

...until a massive alien ship takes off into space, leaving behind a group of humans and a tiny grey alien.

When the wind blasts calm down and the smoke settles, America turns towards Tony: "You know, when the Grand Councilwoman asked you to say something in English, I don't think she meant swears."

Tony dismisses this with – surprise, surprise – another string of curses, all of them directed towards the Grand Councilwoman. America leaves him be and heads towards the group of CIA agents who, now that their job there is done, are preparing to leave.

"So, mosquitoes?" he asks a man with a pretty impressive afro haircut. "That'll be an awesome story to tell your grandkids!"

Cobra Bubbles smiles politely. "Indeed. It's even more surprising that it worked."

* * *

The first time he receives a video call from the Grand Councilwoman is ten years after their first encounter. A quick check-up on Tony's status – just a formality, she assures him, apparently not even noticing how he hasn't aged one bit.

The second call comes in '95. Again, the Grand Councilwoman makes no comment about America himself, but she is briefly surprised when he informs her that Cobra Bubbles has retired from the CIA.

* * *

The girl is called Nani Pelekai and she is, without a doubt, a great surfer.

Her younger sister, Lilo, makes her way through the crowd and hugs her, followed immediately by Mr. and Mrs. Pelekai. The mother makes a joking comment that they will soon have to build another room in the house, to store all of Nani's trophies and medals. This causes Lilo to launch herself into an endless talk about how _she_ wants a new room too, along with all of the normal stuff that goes into a normal kid's room… which for some reason, included living dinosaurs.

It makes it all the more painful for him, a few months later, to read the newspaper article with a bolded title: HEAVY RAIN CAUSES CAR ACCIDENT.

The sad thing about tragedies was that they more than often happened to good people.

* * *

It's earlier than usual, as evidenced by the fact that, apart from him, there's only one other person on this area of the beach: a gloomy-looking teenager, no older than sixteen, who kind of just wanders around aimlessly. He's skinny and wears a shirt that's in desperate need of a wash, along with an enormous pair of headphones which render him oblivious to everything that's happening around him. Both he and America are perfectly content with ignoring each other and everybody is happy.

It's nice to enjoy a moment of peace and quiet just for yourself, before the hordes of people start crowding the beach later during the day. He lets out a yawn and-

 _FLASH_!

"What the–" Blinking rapidly, America looks around. A little girl walks away from him, holding a large photo camera. How did he not notice her? "Hey! Wait a sec!"

She turns around and it doesn't take America long to recognize Lilo.

"If you're going to take a picture of me, at least tell me so I can look awesome."

For a moment, Lilo just looks at him, her expression unreadable. Then she lifts her camera again. America puts up his best movie-star smile, complete with a 'thumbs up' to the camera. _FLASH_. Lilo takes out the print and, after a brief look at it, she comments: "I'm still keeping the first one."

America laughs. "I'm sure you are. What's your name?" He already knows, but it's better to ask, nevertheless.

She hesitates for a moment before answering: "I'm Lilo."

"Nice to meet you, Lilo. I'm Alfred Jones."

Lilo tilts her head to the side. "Are you a tourist? I don't remember seeing you around here 'till now."

"Yeah, I like to come here on vacation whenever I got some free time. Been doing so for a few years, actually." America takes a brief look around. "So... did you also take photos of other people, or am I the only victim?"

Lilo points to the teenager with the headphones. "You and him, over there." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she says: "He's always wearing those things. _Always_. I think he's actually an alien in disguise and that's how he gets his orders from the hivemind."

Most people, at this point, would have told Lilo that she's weird. But America decides to play along. "Hmm, you're right, looks like the perfect disguise." In reality, he'd rather look at pretty much anything else other than the guy who, in the meantime, had started picking his nose. But hey, one has to make sacrifices, sometimes.

"I knew it." Lilo puts on a way-too serious face, given the situation. "So you think aliens are real?"

He shrugs, almost indifferently. "Meh. Anything's possible. So, I guess you like photography?"

"It's a hobby." Lilo searches through her bag and hands him a small pile of photos.

Well, one thing is certain: Lilo's photos are the very definition of 'mood whiplash'. During the one minute in which he looks through them, America sees photos of: a guy scratching his back, another guy falling off a surfboard, a foot, a girl chewing pizza with her mouth open, someone's left shoe and a close-up of an ice-cream cup melting in the sand. "They're... nice." After he gives Lilo her pictures back, she takes a sandwich out of her bag. "It's tuna." Lilo splits the sandwich in half and hands him the smaller half. "Want some?"

Tuna sandwiches have never been his favorites, but it would be rude to refuse her. They eat, while talking some more about themselves and about their hobbies. America discovers that Lilo is a big fan of Elvis and, to the girl's delight, he promises he'll bring her an autographed poster of Elvis next time he'll drop by. After a while, Lilo goes away for a few minutes and during that time, America sits down on the sand, listening to the ocean. Lilo returns, this time wearing a swimsuit. "I need to tell my sister to buy more peanut butter," she comments, as she takes out a second sandwich.

"Peanut butter after tuna?" America asks, slightly amused. "Not the best combination, I'd say."

"Oh, this one isn't for me," Lilo says, while unwrapping the sandwich. "It's for Pudge."

America shrugs and dismisses it for now... until he sees Lilo heading for the water... while still holding the sandwich. "Uh, Lilo?" he calls after her. She turns around. "The town's the other way."

"I know that."

"Then... why are you going in the water?"

"'Cause that's where Pudge lives." Seeing America's confused expression, Lilo explains further: "Pudge is my fish friend. I give him a peanut butter sandwich every Thursday, and today is Thursday." She says it as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

America remains silent for a second. "Why would you give a fish a peanut butter sandwich?"

"Oh, that's simple. Pudge controls the weather."

That being said, Lilo jumps into the ocean, leaving America to properly process what she told him. Why would she think a fish–

Oh.

Part of him wants to tell Lilo that's not how the world works and that Pudge is really nothing more than a fish. But Lilo is obviously, at least to a small degree, living in some sort of world of her own and he can't find it within himself to burst that bubble. He briefly wonders if Nani knows what happens to half of Lilo's sandwiches on Thursday.

* * *

Cobra Bubbles hardly looks like he did all those years ago. It's during moments like this when America wishes he'd have someone else to place bets with on whether he's going to notice him or just continue to walk by, too focused on what seems to be a really interesting phone conversation.

Tapping his foot lightly on the pavement, he waits. Of all places, Hawaii had been the last one where he would expect to run into the former CIA agent.

Life is indeed full of surprises.

Caught up in the conversation, Mr. Bubbles fails to notice America and almost walks past him. "Understood. I'll visit the two of them tomorrow in the afternoon..."

...

That's right, not even a glance.

America can't help but let out a short laugh. Wow, that conversation must have been downright fascinating! "Visiting someone but not even saying 'Hello' to me on the street? Man, now I feel offended."

From what he remembers, Mr. Bubbles isn't a guy who's easily taken by surprise and yet, there's no mistaking his reaction upon seeing him. "...Alfred?" he asks, a somewhat wary look in his eyes.

"Long time no see!" His cheerful attitude dies down, as he realizes just how many years have passed. "You got older."

"Unlike you."

Every human he'd known had said those words at one point or another and every time, he can't help but feel a sting of sadness every time he hears them. "Then I guess that makes you the lucky one," he says and it's one of the times when he means every word. "I'll miss the hair, though."

Mr. Bubbles raises an eyebrow and America laughs. "Yeah, seriously. Now I bet I could cook an egg on your head if you sit like two minutes in the sun. At least wear a hat or something!"

To his surprise, this actually brightens up the atmosphere. Mr. Bubbles smiles briefly. "I see that your appearance isn't the only thing that hasn't changed."

"Why would you ever say my sense of humor needs to change? You can't improve perfection!" he says, as the two of them start walking downtown. "So say, how have you been, lately?"

* * *

The Grand Councilwoman informs him about 626, his incoming crash-landing and about the pair of aliens sent to retrieve him.

"I'm aware that this may cause you unnecessary trouble, but I assure you the two of them had received specific orders to behave themselves," she says.

Somehow, this doesn't reassure him at all.

* * *

Nani bumping into him at high speed is not what he expects.

"Excuse me! Sorry..." she says. Before America can answer, she is already far away, running as if her life depends on it. Shortly after, he sees Mr. Bubbles' car, coming in his direction, slowing down at a walking pace. The tinted black window slides down and Mr. Bubbles glances at him from the driver's seat.

"Hit a stray cat or something?" With a smirk, America points at the trace Nani's shoe left on the car's front bumpers.

"Very funny." The window slides up and the car accelerates, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.

* * *

Early in the morning the next day, America goes to meet Jumba and Pleakley. The Grand Councilwoman had warned him to not expect anything resembling 'professionalism' from them.

The spaceship is parked on top of a hill, hidden between trees and tall bushes. At least they had the common sense to not simply leave it near a road.

As soon as they notice him, they start whispering between themselves, while pointing in his direction – mostly Pleakley. In contrast, Jumba doesn't seem too fazed, merely rolling his eyes at the other's 'first-contact advice'.

"Oh, shut up, already." Pushing Pleakley aside, Jumba approaches America. "Hello, there! You must be the one the Grand Councilwoman told us to contact upon arrival," he says and America nods, glad that the ice has been broken early on. "Good! We're–"

"Jumba, please!" Pleakley interrupts, coming in between the two. "As I told you, these are extremely primitive creatures. You have to talk as simplistically as possible, so they can understand. Like this!" Turning towards America, Pleakley declares in a pompous voice: "Greetings, human Earthling! We come in peace and mean no-"

Great, so he was one of _those_ aliens. Great. "Dude. Listen, I really don't want this to become one of the top ten most embarrassing moments of my existence. So just so you know... Roswell, 1973. I was there."

Pleakley remains silent for a moment. "Oh. Well, then..." He straightens his back and - Jumba's chuckling in the background not helping at all – extends a three-fingered hand: "Agent Pleakley of the Galactic Federation, at your service."

"Yeah, I know." America shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you too." He then looks over Pleakley's shoulder, at Jumba: "And I suppose you're Doctor Jumba, right?"

"The one we can thank for this mess, yes," Pleakley mutters.

Jumba smiles and waves a hand, apparently proud of himself. "I assume that if the Grand Councilwoman has told you about us, then you've also been informed about experiment 626, correct?"

"Yeah, she did. Question: If this thing's so dangerous, why did you even create it in the first place?"

"Yes, Jumba. Let's hear," Pleakley adds, crossing his arms and looking expectantly at him.

A loud beeping sound coming from within the spaceship saves Jumba from answering. "The reasoning behind my scientific breakthrough will have to wait." He is quickly followed inside by Pleakley and America. Pausing for a moment outside the entrance, he remembers the first time he'd entered Tony's spacecraft. After the CIA agents had left, Tony had agreed on allowing him a look inside. Long story short, after an endless tirade of 'What does this do?', 'What's this?', 'Why's that green light blinking?', 'Why is it green, anyways?' and so on, Tony had had enough and kicked him out. While Jumba and Pleakley head towards what seems to be the navigation computer, America goes in the opposite direction, to throw a sneak peek at a pile of open metallic crates. He's watched enough Sci-Fi movies until now to figure out that one of them contains laser guns – hopefully not to be used very often. Inside another one is a cylindrical glass container and inside the third, some syringes and bags filled with a brightly-colored substance he can only assume it's a sedative for 626.

"Aha! There he is!"

Turning his attention away from the alien tech, he walks towards Jumba and Pleakley. A large holographic screen is showing what looks like a strange blue animal at a pet shelter. America frowns. "That's 626? Wasn't he supposed to have four arms or something like that?"

"It seems he's changed his appearance to resemble that of a species native to your planet, in order to blend in." Jumba taps his chin with a finger, lost in thought. "What do you humans call it...?"

"A dog?" America tries.

"There you go – a dog! And apparently, he's not very far away, either," Jumba points at a series of coordinates in the corner of the screen, written in various symbols which no matter how hard he tries, America can't make sense of.

Jumba runs outside, leaving America alone with Pleakley. A few seconds pass and the two share a glance. "So..." America begins, trying to find something to say – the silence is becoming way too awkward. Then it happens. The words come out before he can stop them: "You like mosquitoes?"

Pleakley immediately brightens up and America knows that this has been a bad, _bad_ idea. "Definitely! Who wouldn't like them? Honestly, they're a genetic wonder - I can't imagine how they'd become near-extinct. Did you know that the sound of a mosquito can kill almost all of the sentient life forms on Pyrana 7 because of its high frequency? Or that a mosquito's eggs can develop and hatch inside the body of a Vandarian from Vandar 5 and that the symptoms that occur when the larvae come out include but are not limited to–"

"Alright, alright, I got it! Shut up!" America repressed a shudder – serves him right for trying to make conversation. "Why don't you just go after Jumba, okay? I pretty much have to go, anyway."

Pleakley doesn't look too thrilled at the thought of leaving his speech about mosquitoes unfinished, but mission comes first and he heads towards the exit. "Correct, I should do that. See you later!"

With that, Pleakley rushes outside and America makes a note to himself to later ask Jumba if he's invented a machine that can erase this particular memory from his mind.

* * *

It's fairly easy to find something when you know exactly what to look for and in this case, a blue dog is a dead giveaway. What America doesn't expect, however, is 626's new owner to be Lilo, of all people.

Noticing America, Lilo waves at him to come over. He can see even from the distance the suspicious look 626 is giving him; probably sensing that it isn't the only non-human thing around anymore. Even though America keeps a casual and friendly appearance as he approaches, 626 becomes increasingly nervous.

"Alfred, look! This is my new dog!" Lilo says when he arrives in front of her and in any other situation, her enthusiasm would be contagious. 626 on the other hand, doesn't share Lilo's enthusiasm at all – quite the opposite. It promptly backs away from America, growling and baring its teeth, looking more like a rabid animal, rather than a highly sophisticated lab experiment.

"That's great, Lilo," America says, with a smile.

"He's the best dog in the world," Lilo says, proudly. "He can talk. He said 'Hi!' to me at the dog shelter. Wanna see?" Without waiting for an answer, Lilo tells Stitch: "Come on, Stitch. Say 'Hi!' to Alfred!"

Instead of that, 626's growls become louder, until they turn into barks. America's smile fades, as 626 now slowly approaches him, the hostility he is radiates being almost palpable. Seeing this, Lilo starts spraying 626 with her toy water pistol. "Stitch, no!" Instant effect. 626 forgets about America, in favor of drying himself as quickly as possible and dodging Lilo's water jets. "Bad dog. Stop being rude," Lilo says.

The moment Lilo stops spraying him, 626 glares at her. He grabs her water pistol and throws it into a garden nearby. Pouting, Lilo goes off to get it back.

Being left alone with America, 626 growls at him one more time... and then proceeds to flat-out ignore him, by indulging itself in the fascinating activity of nose-picking. With Lilo not there, America drops the friendly facade. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching 626, who continues to stubbornly ignore him. "So. How should I call you? Stitch?" This gets a reaction out of 626, as the alien shoots a dark glare at him. America kneels down, so that he is now at the same eye-level with 626. "Or should I say... experiment 626?"

For a moment, 626 is speechless. But he quickly pulls himself together, as his hand clenches into a fist, heading straight for America's face-

And the nation catches his fist, stopping him. 626's eyes widen and, although he hides it, America is surprised too at how strong the little alien experiment is – he actually has to put in some effort to block the hit. "Careful there." He gestures towards something behind 626 and, looking back, the alien notices Lilo coming back, brushing the dirt off her water pistol. "We don't want Lilo to get upset, right?"

626 stares at him, frowning in disdain. Looking away and muttering to himself, he gives up on trying to hit America. "I'll take it as a 'yes'," America says, letting go of 626's hand.

"What did I miss?" Lilo asks, as she returns.

America smiles as if nothing happened. "Actually, Stitch and I were just practicing handshakes."

"Really? Stitch, that's awesome! Let me try, Alfred!"

Lilo extends a hand at Stitch who, after shooting one last venomous glare at America, shakes it, while looking like he's about to vomit.

* * *

A part of America keeps insisting that what he's seeing isn't real, that the two aliens aren't wearing some of the dumbest disguises he's ever seen and they're absolutely not bickering about whether or not Pleakley's wig was ruined by Stitch's saliva. He takes a sip from a soda can. The fact that this has been a really long day certainly isn't helping.

"Well I say I looked pretty fine before he chomped my head!" Straightening his wig, Pleakley turns to America. "What do you think?"

Not being able to think of any other decent answer - and honestly, what do you even say to that? - America goes with: "You're the ugliest lady I've seen in my life."

"Aha! That's what I've been telling him all day," Jumba adds, glad that someone else shares his opinion.

America sighs. All evidence considered, the capture operation didn't go well at all. "Do I even want to know what happened?"

"We failed miserably and I think the big sister got fired because of it." Jumba then throws an accusing glare at Pleakley. "I told you we should've gassed the entire place first...!"

After dumping the remaining soda on the aliens' heads, America casually walks away, ignoring the protests that echo in the night, behind him.

* * *

To some people, Cobra Bubbles may seem like a pretty intimidating man. But in America's opinion, if you tell anyone that a blue dog has hit you in the face with a book and that's why your sunglasses are ruined, then whatever level of awesomeness you've had will drop so much it will eventually go below the sea level.

It takes America a while to stop laughing. "Look at the bright side! It already reads actual _books_ , that means it's gonna become a model citizen in no time," he says, patting the other man on the shoulder.

"Your joke is like a beacon of light in my dark and humorless existence," Mr. Bubbles replies, which prompts America to put on a very proud grin. "So what kind of alien have I had the honor of being hit by?"

America's grin fades, but he isn't actually surprised by this. "Oh. So you've figured it out."

"I recognize one when I see it."

"Yeah, you do. But since you've given up on this kind of stuff when you retired, I thought I shouldn't bother you with it."

"Still, it's something I would've liked to know about. Especially when Lilo and Nani are also involved." With a frown, Mr. Bubbles examines his broken sunglasses. "This will complicate things a lot and on top of that, it's absolutely the last thing those girls need."

"I don't know. Lilo seems happy."

Mr. Bubbles still doesn't look convinced.

"Okay, fine. So Lilo's got an alien pet. What are you gonna do about it? I mean, don't get me wrong, but you can't really use that as a reason to take her away. People are gonna think you're crazy."

Mr. Bubbles shoots him a sharp glare. "Thank you very much, but I know how to do my job. But that's just another reason to keep them under close watch. I'll decide what to do based on how the events will unfold from now on."

America sighs – he knows he can't convince him otherwise, so he doesn't even try. "Right. Good luck with that." Taking the sunglasses and tossing them into a dumpster nearby, he gestures for Mr. Bubbles to follow him. "But not before we get you some new sunglasses."

After this extremely important task is done, they part ways. Mr. Bubbles goes to look after Lilo and Nani, and America goes off to enjoy what is left of his vacation.

A part of him actually wants to help too, but he knows all too well that he isn't allowed to interfere with the lives of his citizens. That's not how the game is played. As France said, they were just the ships. Their people were the crew. Play the role of a bystander and react as events unfold over time – for the better, or worse.

"Hey, dude?"

Mr. Bubbles turns around.

"Make sure he becomes a _model citizen._ "

By now, America doesn't expect Mr. Bubbles to laugh at any joke he makes. It doesn't stop him from trying, though.

* * *

The old lady who Nani has just interviewed wants to sell him a melon. America doesn't want to buy a melon, thank you very much.

* * *

He stumbles upon Stitch late at night, walking alone...while carrying a book? He stops and watches him follow a path between the trees, to a less populated area of the island. After a few moments of weighing his options, he decides to follow – because seriously now, a lone and sad-looking 626 isn't something you see every day. He is sure to always keep a good distance behind, but 626 doesn't seem to care if he's being followed, either. In the end, he reaches a clearing, puts the book down and sits beside it, watching the pages with a heartbreaking expression. America approaches him As if on cue, Stitch turns towards him.

It's almost as if he's a different Stitch. Big black eyes no longer hold hostility and desire for destruction, but instead he is lost and confused, almost resembling small child, who ran away from home.

"You really like books, don't you?" His tone isn't hostile, or angry, despite the way their previous interaction went. There was no need to be.

626 doesn't answer and instead backs away, holding the book close to himself as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

"Easy there, I'm not here to hurt you." He pauses. "Actually…I think maybe we started off on the wrong foot. Do you wanna tell me what you're doing here?"

Stitch's lips tremble. He opens his mouth a few times, and then closes it, as if he has the concepts in his mind, but still isn't too sure how to articulate them into words. "Stitch…leave."

"Oh." Obviously, Stitch didn't want to go into more details. He decided to change the subject. "What's it about?" he asks, pointing to the book, although he's already figured it out, just by seeing the duckling on the cover.

Stitch looks at it and then back at him. Then he gently opens it and, after flipping through the pages, shows America a picture of a little lonely duckling in a forest. "Stitch bad," he says.

"Is that what you think?" It was clear that Stitch wasn't the same as he'd been when he'd tried to punch him. He'd learned and he'd changed. "Well, I can certainly say you were an evil little devil in the past," he says and regrets his word choice almost immediately, because Stitch lowers his ears in shame and looks away. "But I can also say that you've gotten a lot better now."

Everything changed. Not even the nations themselves were completely immune to change. One only had to look at history to see it.

"Stitch bad," the other one repeats. "Ruin _ohana_."

With that, he turns his back to America and sits down on the ground, looking sadly at the opened book – a clear sign that the conversation was over. "Okay, I get it. You wanna be alone." America stands up and starts walking away. "I'll leave you with your duckling friends then. Just know that you don't have to be alone. You still have somewhere to go back to, even if it may not look like it."

Stitch continues to pretend to ignore him. After a few steps, America stops, halfway turning around. "You're lucky, you know? Lilo's a good girl and she's always gonna be there for you. Maybe you should consider doing the same for her. After all, that's what _ohana_ does, right?"

The blue alien casts a small glance in his direction – scared and doubtful, but there is also a faint glimmer of hope somewhere deep within his eyes. He returns to his book right after that, but it doesn't matter – the words had gotten a reaction out of him. Whether Stitch decided to listen to him or not, it wasn't something he could control.

* * *

Jumba is tired and furious and he's also carrying a fully-charged laser gun.

"Where is he?" the alien snaps. When America blinks a couple of times in surprise, he repeats: "626, I mean. _Where is he_?"

"Why would you think I'd know?"

"I don't have time for games!" Jumba shouts and for a second, America is taken aback by the alien's sudden outburst of anger. "Listen, I have spent the entire second half of yesterday trying to not get eaten by fish in the middle of the ocean and then... then I spent the entire night on a cold cliff, picking seashells out of my clothes, only to be informed in the morning that I'm fired!"

In lack of anything else to say, America goes with: "That's rough, buddy."

"I appreciate your understanding, but my patience level is running critically low. Just tell me where 626 is, so I can capture him and be done with this."

Now, to be clear, America is in no way against a Jumba that has actually decided to take the mission seriously. But then the image of Stitch from last night, all alone, comes in his mind. "Ever thought that it may not be necessary to capture him anymore?"

"Why would you say such aberrations?" Jumba asks, hesitating.

"I don't know. Maybe he's learned to be more...non-destructive."

The alien looks at him as if he's grown two heads. "Learn? Non-destructive? Don't be ridiculous – 626 cannot comprehend such things." After a few moments of waiting, it becomes clear to Jumba that he isn't getting anywhere like this. "Fine. If you won't tell me, then I'll find him myself."

America watches Jumba disappear between the trees, while having a bad feeling about what is going to happen.

Pleakley appears a few moments after. He seems about to faint, as if he's been running a marathon. "Which way did he go?" is all he asks. America points in the direction Jumba had left. "Thank you," Pleakley says and, without wasting any more time, goes after him.

Fired. That must've hurt.

Wait. _Fired_? If Jumba was fired, then it meant Pleakley was fired, too. Then who-

 _Wooosh_!

A blast of wind hits the trees and flocks of startled birds take off as yet another alien spaceship flies over his head, at low altitude.

* * *

A large, red and white spaceship flies across the beach at a dangerously low altitude, stirring a small sandstorm in its wake, before disappearing behind a cliff. Another, significantly smaller one follows its trail.

America and Mr. Bubbles stand near the palm trees and play a game they haven't played since Roswell. It's a fun game and it involves a great deal of imagination and critical thinking. It's called 'Coming up with plausible cover-up stories for alien spaceship chases'.

It's not much else they can do, anyways.

"I propose 'malfunctioning experimental auto-pilot system'," Mr. Bubbles says.

"Hm." America is still trying to get the tiny grains of sand out of his eyes. "Nah. How about 'surprise air show for the tourists'?"

After considering it for a moment, Mr. Bubbles nods. "That might do."

"A really expensive air show, I might add," America comments, throwing a disapproving glare at the spaceships.

About fifteen minutes after that, a third one arrives, landing onto the beach not very far away from them, stirring up an even bigger sandstorm, forcing them to cover their eyes. When the wind settles down, they are able to see the Grand Councilwoman, along with more than a few dozen security personnel walking down the ramp. It's a good thing there's no one on the beach.

America turns to Mr. Bubbles. They both know what they have to do. "So, what do you say? One more time, just like the good old days?"

A faint smile makes its way on Mr. Bubbles' face, carrying a subtle hint of nostalgia. "Don't remind me," he says. "The 'good old days' were when people would look at my head and not make cooked eggs jokes."

America pretends he's deep in thought. "Yeah, that might be a problem." He points towards the Grand Councilwoman. "She might have trouble recognizing you without hair."

The Grand Councilwoman is stern, serious and barking orders left and right. In short, exactly the same as the first time America had met her, many years ago. It was somewhat nice to know that there were other things in the Universe which didn't change, besides him. "Ah, it's you," she says, when noticing America approaching, along with Mr. Bubbles. "I was just about to contact you, to let you know of our arrival." She narrows her eyes at him. "Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but shouldn't you look older?"

America shrugs. "Maybe." He doesn't bother to insist on the matter. It's nice of her to only _now_ figure that one out, though. "I get that a lot."

She clears her throat, getting the message. "In any case, I believe you can imagine why we are here. Do not worry – we only want to get 626 back, and then we won't be a bother anymore. Oh, and sorry for any disturbances our landing may have caused," she adds, more like an afterthought.

America sighs. "Well, it _is_ the fourth one in about as many days – I think people have become pretty used to it by now."

Luckily, the Grand Councilwoman doesn't take it personally. "I can assure you this will be the last one. After we apprehend 626, you won't need to worry about landings happening anytime soon."

"That's what you guys always say." He yawns – he's heard this speech a million times by now. They always said it was the last time and guess what: it was _never_ the last time. "Listen, just do your thing and try to leave any humans you might come across out of this, okay? It's bad enough that we have to come up with excuses for a random spaceship chase already."

She frowns. "Why would we even be interested in the humans? 626 is the one we are here for."

Right then, Jumba's spaceship crashes into the sea. America shares a look with Mr. Bubbles and the man nods, a sign that it's alright for him to go away and that he can handle this. As much as he'd like to witness the show, he also knows there's no point in him sticking around any longer. His presence there would only overcomplicate things. So he walks away and lets his people do their thing.

Lilo, Nani and her friends were good people. Those like them always found a way to survive whatever life threw in their way.

What Mr. Bubbles tells him the evening after, while having a drink at the café, confirms it.

* * *

"Do you really have to go?" Lilo asks.

It's been two weeks already, since the Grand Councilwoman had left and Stitch had officially became part of the family. He sighs, flipping through the messages in his phone, deleting them en masse, not even bothering to read what they are actually about. He already knows. About thirty-four are from his boss, probably asking him where the hell he is, eighteen are from England, more than surely calling him a lazy cunt because he's now missed four world conferences, nine are from China, probably reminding him that he _still_ hasn't given him back those twenty dollars he'd borrowed nine months ago and one is from Molossia, who is maybe apologizing for breaking one of his windows during a baseball game with Sealand. In other words, unimportant stuff. "Yeah, I do."

Lilo's lower lip quivers. "I don't like it either," he says, trying to save the situation, "but I have to."

Stitch is carrying some heavy construction materials for their new home; about a thousand times his own weight, all being balanced almost perfectly on his four arms. The blue alien spares a hand to wave at them, while passing by. Both he and Lilo wave back.

She still looks sad. "Look, it's not a tragedy. Sometimes people leave, but sometimes they also come back," America says and points towards Stitch – the best example he could give in this scenario: "I thought you'd know this by now." He smiles. "Besides, it's not like I'll forget about you, Lilo. You'll do the same thing for me, right?"

"Of course I will." Lilo seems offended at the mere idea that she could forget one of her friends. "I always remember people." She looks down. "Especially the ones who leave."

"Then we have something in common."

Lilo looks back up at him and this time, there is hope glimmering in her eyes. She sticks a finger up at him, her expression so determined and serious it's almost comical. "Then I'm gonna send you pictures to make sure that doesn't happen," she says and whether it's a promise, or a threat is kind of unclear. "I also expect you to come over to Stitch's one-month anniversary, which is supposed to celebrate one month since I've bought him. It's in a few weeks," she adds, with an important air, then pauses. "Wait – no, better yet, don't come over in a few weeks. I plan on having roof-surfing contest that day and the roof's probably not gonna be done yet."

She wasn't making too much sense anymore, but that was the magic of Lilo. "I'll wait until it's done, then. I have all the time in the world."

Lilo smiles and it's probably a good thing she doesn't know how literally he means it. "Great!" She hugs him and starts walking backwards towards the house, waving bye-bye during all that time, until Stitch grabs her shoulders and turns her around, just in time to not trip over a rock.

They go on with their lives.

His phone rings again. Boss. He lets it ring, until it stops. He knows he'll have to endure a whole lot of yelling when he gets back, so why not delay it as much as possible?

David walks past him, carrying a newly-bought drill.

"Good luck with that, David!" he calls, startling the young man a bit.

David turns around and his first reaction is to say "Thanks!" Only then does he realize something somewhere doesn't compute and how does this stranger who he'd never seen before know him? "Wait – how do you know my name?"

"I have ears, don't I? You're pretty popular around here." With that, America walks away, leaving him a little confused, but also intrigued.

David remains still for a while, looking in the direction America has wandered off into, with his head slightly tilted to the side. "…I am? Since when?"

* * *

From time to time, Lilo sends him various pictures of their new family life together. One day, he receives one that is nothing more than a half-finished can of tuna. On the back, it wrote:

_Stitch tried peanut butter and tuna. He passed out._

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, it's done. Believe me or not, this little fic has taken me…an embarrassing amount of time to write and now that I think about it, I don't really know why. It's not even a very complicated story. Seriously, I originally started writing this thing two or maybe three years ago. I remember writing some chunks from time to time, and then six or seven or eight months would pass in which it'd sit and rot somewhere among the other billion files in my laptop. But hey, at least now it's finished.  
> Finally.


End file.
